


How to Fix a Show in Fifteen Easy Chapters

by everybreathagift



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Badass Mickey Milkovich, Jealousy, M/M, Reunions, Shameless writers should take note, This is how we fix everything, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: When Ian finds himself in a bad situation, the Gallaghers have to come up with a solution. That solution is Mickey Milkovich. Because of course it is.





	1. The Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have this friend, Phil, who is a Shameless fan. He, like the rest of us, is pretty pissed about how the last season went, and the plot they've released for the next. So, he came up with this idea and together, we fleshed it out and now, here I am, writing it. 
> 
> Warning: If you're a Trevor fan, you will not like this story.
> 
> Warning: The first few chapters are from different POV's, but the majority of the chapters end up being Mickey's. Because I love him the most, lbr. Just hang in there and you'll see our thug with a heart of gold soon enough.

Ian laces his boots, feeling his stomach growl. He should probably know by now that he’s got to eat before taking his meds. He’ll grab something on the way out, before his shift. Otherwise, he’ll spend the day jittery and with a stomach ache. He’s leaving early anyway, walking to work as he’s unwilling to deal with public transit with a migraine. 

As he steps outside, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulls it out. It’s Tony. Ian nearly doesn’t answer; Tony is always so cheery and yeah, that probably makes Ian a dick but he really isn’t in the mood today. They only see each other at games and in passing, an odd almost-friendship of sorts, so Tony is more than likely calling to invite Ian and Trevor to dinner again or something. Sighing, he puts the phone to his ear. 

“Tony, what’s up?” 

“Hey, man,” Tony says, significantly less peppy than Ian is used to. “You heard from Trevor today?” 

Ian frowns. “He text me this morning on the way to the doctor. Why?” 

“Well, I heard a call come in about ten minutes ago with the address of the shelter he works at. Expected robbery. Just wanted to make sure he was good, you know?” 

“Oh, shit,” Ian sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, thanks, Tony. Let me call him.” 

“No problem, Ian, see ya’.” 

What kind of shitty person tries to steal from a homeless shelter for queer teens? Then again, it _is_ South Side. He’s not all that surprised. Trevor probably already knows, but Ian supposes he should call him anyway. 

They’re not _together_ , not really. They hang out, fuck on occasion, but things were never the same after Ian came back from the border. Trevor was always uneasy and Ian, well…. Ian’s heart was somewhere else entirely. Still, they’re the closest thing to a boyfriend either one of them has. Best friends with benefits, essentially. Trevor’s been different lately, and Ian has wondered if he’s actually seeing someone and just hasn’t had the guts to tell him. Ian’s not entirely sure that he would care.

He starts walking again and dials Trevor’s number. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, uhm- you heard about the shelter?” Ian asks reluctantly. 

“No,” Trevor answers, immediately sounding concerned. “What?” 

“Tony just called. Said it looks like someone tried to rob the place.” 

Trevor goes silent for a minute, then, “did they actually take anything?” 

“I don’t know,” Ian responds, stopping at the crosswalk. “Was there actually anything for them to take?” 

Trevor is silent long enough for Ian to pull the phone away from his ear to see if he lost connection. When he finally speaks again, his voice is hushed, kind of strained. “Ian, I gotta go.” 

“O… kay. Am I gonna see you later?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Trevor says dismissively. “I’ll come to your house after you get off, okay?” 

Before Ian can respond, the call disconnects. _Yeah_ , Ian thinks, _definitely different._

~***~ 

Ian both loves and hates slow days. Slow is good because it means less people are being shot, stabbed, hurt or dying. It’s bad because it drags and drags, leaving Ian with his thoughts and a perpetually dead battery on his phone. By the time his shift ends, he's exhausted from boredom, and it makes him feel tired and energized all at once. 

He waits for Trevor until almost midnight, then tries calling him. He never gets an answer. He’s not worried exactly, but he finds the situation pretty odd, especially Trevor’s behavior about the whole thing. He checks the local news websites to see if he can find anything about the robbery, but surprisingly, nothing is listed. For a minute, he considers calling Tony back and asking, but decides against it. It’ll just open a conversation for he and Trevor’s _status_ and he’s certainly not in the mood for dealing with that. 

He goes to bed, but turns the ringer up on his phone just in case. 

~***~

When he still hasn’t heard from Trevor by the next afternoon, he decides to go to the shelter. Maybe he’s there, helping with clean up. Finding new placements for his kids. Any number of things. 

He frowns as he looks at the vacant building. It’s clear they tore the place up; the door has been all but ripped off the hinges, and two of the windows are broken. Blinds are torn down. But for no one to be there at all? The place was brimming with life two days ago. 

The suspicion that it’s more than a simple robbery is solidified when he sees the crime tape strung across the front. There is absolutely no reason for the place to be roped off if all they did was steal some furniture. Standing there, he tries calling Trevor again, and actually leaves a voicemail this time. 

“Alright, starting to get pretty pissed over here. At least let me know you’re okay, asshole.” 

Sighing, he drops his phone into his pocket and starts walking back home. 

Despite the best efforts of white hipsters, the entirety of the neighborhood is still a shithole. There’s still decaying buildings on every corner, drunks on the sidewalks and gunshots firing in the distance. It’s still South Side, and Ian’s pretty sure it’ll never change. He’s not sad about it. This is home. 

And the lifetime he spent in this home is the only reason he realizes that he’s being followed as he turns onto North Wallace. It’s a blacked out Suburban, and Ian racks his brain for potential reasons why someone would want to tail him. He speeds up, ready to beat the hell out of Frank if he’s promised one of his kids as payment for drugs again. The faster he moves, the faster the truck follows, and Ian’s heart starts to pound. 

Then, he see Fiona outside by their fence talking to V, and Ian takes a deep breath. 

“Fiona,” he yells, breaking out into a full sprint. “Fiona!” 

The trucks whips ahead of him, pulling onto the sidewalk to cut him off. He skids to a stop, immediately trying to run the other direction but he slips, landing hard on his back. It knocks the breath from his lungs. As he scrambles to get upright again, two large men surround him, and the world goes black as they slip a bag over his head. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” Ian screams, kicking as they lift him from the ground. “Fiona!” 

He lands on his face when they throw him into the truck, still holding his hands behind his back. He can hear Fiona yelling his name, and the world spins as the truck speeds off. Then, like fucking magic, a memory comes to the front of his mind and he grits his teeth. 

He’s gonna fucking kill Mickey.


	2. The Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s terrified and struggling to form a coherent thought. She’s gotta call the cops but what will she say? She knows what she saw but… there’s never a guarantee in the South Side. Who would want to hurt Ian? Her sweet-faced baby brother, the EMT, the kindest of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, y'all, if you like Trevor at all, turn back now. This is not the story for you. 
> 
> I was about 500 words into this chapter and thought, "haha, why would I ever think that writing Fiona's POV was a good idea I am terrible at this what a shit show bad idea stick to Mickey fOREVER," but I made it through and here I am, still hating it but drowning my sorrows in diet coke so it's fine. It's Fine*. 
> 
> I know you're all here for our sweet little badass and I promise, he's coming (puuuuns, baby). Just gotta build it up, you know? Stick it out and you shall be rewarded, or whatever. 
> 
> Gonna try to stick to this weekly posting schedule but I am terrible at many things and keeping a schedule is one of them. Just, you know, FYI. 
> 
> Not beta-ed, just like last chapter, just like the next 13.

Fiona chases the truck, screaming Ian’s name with V on her heels. She can’t think of anything except putting one foot in front of the other, pounding on the pavement, pain tearing through her throat until the truck turns and leaves her line of sight. She reluctantly slows, panting heavily. 

“What the fuck is going on?” V shouts, bending over to brace her palms against her knees.

Fiona shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

She’s terrified and struggling to form a coherent thought. She’s gotta call the cops but what will she say? She knows what she saw but… there’s never a guarantee in the South Side. Who would want to hurt Ian? Her sweet-faced baby brother, the EMT, the kindest of them all.

Fucking Frank. It’s gotta be. Nothing else makes sense.

She spins around and runs back to the house, vaguely aware of V calling after her. She busts in through the door, unable to even apologize to Liam when he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Lip,” she yells, taking the stairs two at a time. “Lip, open up, hurry!”

“The fuck?” He asks, yanking open his door with a scowl.

“Ian was just taken. Where the fuck is Frank?”

“What’s going on?” Debbie questions from behind her, Franny on her hip.

“The fuck do you mean Ian was just taken?”

Fiona turns and goes back down the stairs, running to the kitchen as though she’ll find any answers there. Frank hasn’t been home in days, maybe weeks. He might not have anything to do with this but literally no one else makes sense. It’s gotta be him.

“Fiona, what the  _ fuck _ is happening?” Lip asks, panicked, Debbie and V standing behind him, Liam lingering a little further back.

“I don’t know! I- I- was talking to V outside and I heard Ian shout my name and when I looked there was a truck and when it moved Ian was gone and I chased it, Lip, I ran and I used to be so fast but I couldn’t keep up and then-”

“Hey, hey,” Lip says gently, grabbing her by the shoulders. It’s only then that she realizes she’s shaking, tears dripping from her cheeks. “Breathe, Fi. Breathe. You gotta calm down, okay?”

She nods rapidly, sniffling, trying to slow her racing heart. “It has to be Frank. He’s gotta owe somebody some money, right? They’re taking Ian until he pays.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” V replies. 

“Has anyone even seen Frank?” Debbie asks, sitting Franny in her play pen.

Before Fiona can answer, she hears a knock at the front door. She looks to Lip, who looks to her, then to V, then to Debbie, a shockingly quiet moment in a minute of chaos. Then Fiona sprints for the door, the rest right behind her. She rips it open, praying, begging anything other than herself to somehow see Ian on the other side.

It’s not Ian, but the man isn’t entirely unfamiliar either. Fiona knows him. She just isn’t sure from where.

“Good afternoon. May I come in?” The guy requests politely, hands clasped in front of him.

Fiona steps aside, giving Lip a look that she hopes conveys her concern so he’ll be on his guard.

He steps into the living room, looking around casually with a pleasant smile on his face.

“What the hell is going on?” Lip demands, standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My name is Beto. I don’t believe I ever told you that before, Ms. Fiona.”

“You know each other?” Debbie asks incredulously.

“Merely acquaintances,” Beto answers, waving his hand. “I insisted on coming in when I discovered it is, indeed, the same Gallaghers we’re dealing with. Always with this family, yes?”

That’s when Fiona remembers. Jimmy. Steve. He brought her a stack of cash what feels like centuries ago, told her Jimmy had moved on.

“Jimmy isn’t around here anymore,” she explains quickly, hope blooming in her chest. “We don’t have anything to do with him at all.”

“This is not about him,” Beto says, sounding regretful. “This is about a man named Trevor, and a debt he owes my boss.”

“Ian’s sort-of-not-boyfriend? What- why Ian? They’re not even really a fucking thing,” Lip questions, brow furrowed.

“It would seem Mr. Gallagher is the closest person in Mr. Haney’s life. There is clearly no point in taking Mr. Haney himself, as he would be unable to pay his debt if he were indisposed. We’re holding Mr. Gallagher in his stead.”

Fiona feels like she might throw up. Or start crying again. “But he has nothing to do with it. He’s- Ian’s a good guy, okay, he doesn’t get into shit like this, I promise, whatever it is that Trevor has gotten-”

“He owes Mr. Nando two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a significant amount of cocaine that he was meant to sell. It would appear he doesn't have either.”

The entire room is silent and Fiona knows her jaw must be on the floor. She doesn’t exactly  _ know _ Trevor but… would Ian really get tied up with an addict or a drug dealer?

_ He did date Mickey Milkovich ,  _ she thinks. But even she knows that was different. Mickey was different. Starting with the fact that Mickey would never be in this position, let alone have Ian caught up in it.

She swallows hard. “What’s gonna happen if Trevor doesn’t get the money? This is the South Side,  _ no one _ has that kinda cash around here.”

Beto sighs, lifting his shoulders. “Mr. Gallagher is a handsome young man, no? There are many people that would pay well over the amount owed for him. Mr. Nando will get his money, one way or another.”

Lip steps forward. “I’m going to fucking kill that son-”

“Stop,” Fiona demands, holding her hand out. The last thing she needs is Lip taking a beatdown right now. “What if  _ we _ get the money? Will you bring Ian home?”

“With every hair intact,” Beto promises, dipping his head in agreement. “You have my word, Ms. Fiona.”

It’s ridiculous and probably really ill-advised, but she believes him. “How long do we got?”

Beto hesitates, digging into his pocket and pulling out a card. “I would suggest working as quickly as possible. Mr. Nando is not known for his patience.” He holds his hand out. “Call me when you’re ready.”

The house is deathly silent as he walks to the door, gripping the handle before Fiona remembers. “Wait, wait,” she tells him, dashing up the stairs to Ian’s room. Everything in the house is always a mess but she finds what she’s looking for easily, grabbing them up and running back down.

With shaking hands, she holds the three pill bottles out. “Please, he’s gotta take these every day. He can’t miss. He’s- it’s a- it’s important, please, just bring these to him and let him keep his schedule, if he breaks it-” 

Beto shushes her gently, taking the medication. “He won’t miss a dose, I swear it.”

Nodding jerkily, more tears slide down her cheeks as he walks out, and she’s not exactly sure how long she stares at the door. Helpless. Hopeless.

“We gotta find that motherfucker, Fi,” Lip says, pulling her back to sit on the couch.

Her brain feels a little foggy, like she’s taken something. It’s a struggle to focus on Lip’s face.

“Do any of you know where he lives?” V asks, sitting next to Fiona and taking her hand.

Lip is pacing, hands tugging at his hair. “I mean, I went to his place once to have beers with Ian but I highly fucking doubt he’s still there. Fucker probably took off.”

Swallowing hard, Fiona takes a deep breath and shakes her head a little. She’ll have a proper breakdown once Ian is back. Once she sees his sweet face and hears his laugh. Then, she’ll fall apart. But she can’t do it right now.

“Gotta start somewhere,” she says, heading for the door.

 

~****~

 

Turns out, drug addicts generally have very little self-preservation. Fiona knows that, known it her whole life, learned it when Monica gave a blowjob to a stranger for five bucks and a rock. Fiona was eight. Apparently, that rule hasn’t changed, as they find Trevor still at home, wearing down the carpet in front of his couch.

She recognizes the habit immediately. Trevor’s nose looks like a bad imitation of Rudolph, eyes as wide as saucers and he’s covered in a thick sweat.

They hadn’t knocked. Trevor had stopped dead in his tracks, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Lip says ‘hello’ by punching Trevor in the nose.

“You piece of shit,” Lip spits, picking him up off the floor by his shirt. “You druggie piece of shit, you better have good news.”

Fiona is happy that only the two of them came. Liam doesn’t need to see Lip like this. Furious and terrified all at the same time.

She starts in the kitchen, checking all the hiding places that Monica and Frank had used; taped in the stove, under cabinets, bottom of the fridge. Lip is still interrogating and Trevor is sputtering, unable to do much but be screamed at.

If Nando doesn’t kill Trevor, she’s going to.

“It’s- there’s- what’s left is in the bedroom,” Trevor answers finally, voice shaking.

“What’s  _ left ? _ ” Lip snarls, and Fiona hears another punch as she bursts through the bedroom door.

She doesn’t know much about amounts or bag sizes when it comes to cocaine but the two large sacks lying on the bed certainly doesn’t seem like two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth. Her heart sinks, a million bad thoughts flashing through her brain as she starts opening drawers and lifting the mattress to check for money or, less likely, more drugs. When she finds nothing besides a duffle, she grabs it and the two bags then walks back into the front room.

Trevor is sitting on the couch, head in his hands as Lip stands over him.

“This is it?” Fiona asks, dropping the bags to the ground. “This is really all you fucking have left? What is this shit worth?”

“I’m only a couple bags short, I-I-I can get it, I swear-”

“What’s ‘a couple’?”

Fiona already knows the answer is going to be bad when Trevor holds his hands in front of him, guarding his face from any potential blows from Lip. “About ten but-”

“Ten fucking bags?” Lip yells, rearing back to hit him again but Fiona grabs his arm.

“He’s no good to anyone as pulp,” She sighs, dropping her hand before looking back to Trevor. “And I’m guessing there’s no fucking cash, either.”

“I’m gonna fix it,” Trevor says. “I’m not gonna let them hurt Ian-”

“He’s been gone over an hour and you’ve fucking done nothing but sit in this shithole and get fucking high,” Lip cuts him off. “Fuck you, we’ll take care of this. And I’m going to make sure that Nando takes care of  _ you. _ ”

Fiona opens the duffle and puts the coke inside, vaguely aware of Trevor twitching as he realizes he’s about to lose his stash.

“Consider yourself officially on the wagon,” she tells him, zipping up the bag and handing it to Lip. “You better do something, because if you don’t, it’s not Nando you’ll have to be scared of. He ain’t shit compared to Gallaghers.”

When Lip slams the door behind them, Fiona’s pretty sure she can hear the hinges snap.

 

~****~

 

The phone in her hand feels like a grenade, the call button now a pin. They’ve only been home from Trevor’s for about twenty minutes, but her stomach has been churning since Lip brought it up in the car. For so many reasons.

“You don’t have to,” Lip says, as soft as he ever is. “I just thought he could help.”

“Maybe. He might not know anything at all and I’m just opening up a door that I probably won’t be able to close again,” she replies, clutching the phone tighter. “He’s my Monica, you know?”

“Yeah,” Lip mutters, elbows resting on his knees as he hangs his head. “I got one of those, too.”

Mandy Milkovich. Fiona knows that all too well.

She nods. “So does Ian.”

Mickey Milkovich. Fiona knows that even better.

“Which is why I’m saying you don’t have to.”

She knows she doesn’t, but if something happened to Ian, she’d never forgive herself for not trying every single option available. Even if the option turns into a furious hell-storm down the road.

Her knuckles ache.

“You know what you have to do?”

“Fucking Frank,” Lip sighs. “Why’s it always come down to Frank?”

“You know anyone else that could sell that amount of cocaine in a few days?”

Frank can’t sell it either, not really, but he’s the only one of them that’ll know people who can. Carl, too, but he’s at Millberry and Fiona wouldn’t get him tied up in this anyway, not now that he’s finally on the right track.

Lip stands up, taking a deep breath. “Alright, I’m gonna go track down our alcoholic, deadbeat father and try to move a ridiculous amount of drugs. You… do what you gotta do. Or don’t, you know? We got this, either way.”

She doesn’t let the tears fall until Lip leaves the room. He’s an asshole, through and through, but sometimes, he says the right things. He loves her, she knows that, and he loves Ian, and Debbie and Carl and Liam. For all his flaws, he’s at least got that going for him.

And Ian. She’s never going to stop hugging him when she sees him again. And she  _ will _ see him again, she tells herself over and over. Believing that is the only thing that makes her finally hit the call button.

“Hello?”

Heart pounding, she swallows the lump in her throat and speaks. “Hey, Jimmy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hit me. Like it? Wanna track me down and kill me? There's a cool little box beneath this where you can let me know. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo, what did you think? Like it? Excited? I am! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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